Arlet had survived many battles throughout his life. Roughly a thousand duels of honour –only two of which he lost– and countless numbers of mock battles, bouts, training campaigns, and the occasional backyard fistfight. But since Liam had arrived, he’d slain hellhounds, dismembered hulking insects, killed demonic hellhounds, shot down giant bees, and even bested a green giant in single combat. Fear held no power over his heart, violence did not quicken his pulse, nor did blood excite him. Arlet’s greatest joy came from Argent and the daughter they shared. While his greatest satisfaction came from overcoming an insurmountable opponent.
But Pandora was beyond warriors. Beyond the capacity of men. Beyond Champion Arlet.
If Arlet had ten thousand clones, with brass weapons to share, they would still fail to scratch her impenetrable scales. The sheer tonnage the God-Dragon displayed made his strategist’s calculator sizzle and die. He watched, learning the meaning of impotence, as Pandora flailed, trying to right herself and obliterating a castle with ease. As if she were a tomcat using a dry sandcastle as a scratching post. Whole floors were ripped asunder by an adjustment of her claws. A hundred thousand men with siege engines could not hope to replicate the annihilation he was witnessing.
“How can we fight that- that… Thing.” Whispered Arlet, activating every strategist skill in his inventory.
The Teutonic codex taught that Pandora was a creature of darkness, vulnerable to the holy elements of light and lightning. Yet the royal magicians were drawn exclusively from the college of magic, who did not teach light/holy affinity magi. That duty belonged solely to the Fulminonimbus’ purr-view. After all, who would listen to a powerless priest or an ancient Archbishop if they could not even generate a single holy ward.
Arlet choked, feeling the fear of a champion. The fear of being erased, of your entire life vanishing into the past, meaninglessness, and knowing future generations would usurp his victories. They had one Lightning Lord, and one bishop, the aged Matimeo who stood alongside Niana and the largest of her hulks. Or that is where he should have been. Instead an albino panther sat with Niana on its shoulders, her tiny eclipsiarch chin resting between two albino ears. As if the albino giant was nothing more than a fluffy pillow.
At least we’ll die comfortable. Thought Arlet.
—
Men ran. Some fled screaming, others saved their wind, too focused on running from the castle. Terror gripped their hearts, breaking their spirits. But Liam knew the truth. To flee from Pandora was to become her vassal, to sacrifice reason and logic in her presence was to forsake your soul. They would be of no concern.
Meanwhile, not a single mercenary remained in Blackwood Castle, though Liam couldn’t condemn them. They were not cowards, else they would have fled earlier; no, the men who fled now had hope. An oft maligned ideal, but one that saved their lives, since it whispered to their minds “Run away and you’ll be safe. Run away and someone else will solve the problem that is Pandora.”
A logical answer when the sky was raining dragons and castles. Pandora’s front claws sank through limestone walls, obsidian blades snagging in the stone. And there she hung, gathering her wits as she struggled against portal sickness, the disorientation of traversing continents, worlds, or galaxies.
Liam looked up at her glistening scales, from obsidian, to gold, to sapphire, Pandora was a magnificent being of nigh unparalleled majesty.
I wish I could drop your scaly backside on whomever was stupid enough to resurrect you. Thought Liam.
“Arlet, once upon a time my world had nobles. But we decided to enfranchise every adult, even the women. The theory was that if everyone spoke we would have the best ideas rise to prominence, and any problem could be overcome with common consent.”
The champion nearly jumped out of his shiny armor, whirling on Liam with a brass spear leveled at his chest.
“Are you insane? Philosophy belongs in safe castles! Not on the battlefield! Not against Gods!” Snapped Arlet.
That brought a chuckle to Liam’s lips, further confounding Arlet.
“Listen, a punch must gather strength by first withdrawing the fist.” Said Liam, taking up a boxer’s stance and shadowboxing the air.
Demonstrating a jab, then pulling his fist back to rocket a cross body punch.
“What we found, is when everyone speaks, no one listens. Ideas die, a thousand stubbed egos prevail over the deaths of our grandparents. Any wealthy man could maintain power by bribing just one more person than his competition. Champions, such as Mike Tyson and the Gracie clan, –who should have checked these wealthy giants– men who would’ve become renowned champions of kings, fought for themselves instead. The corruption of nobles spread to all who were wealthy, and without nobles to gripe against we blamed all evil on our God.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Arlet glanced from Liam to Pandora, itching for violence yet incapable of inflicting a scratch. Paralysis of impotency set in, and his body froze, head constantly moving between Liam’s philosophy and Pandora, destroyer of kingdoms.
“Philosophize later! We need to fight, lead us now Lord Liam!” Shouted Arlet.
“Heed me now Arlet. Look, Pandora is in no hurry, for she thinks arriving was the battle. With every second she absorbs more of humanities’ failures, growing stronger from our sins. We have time to chat.” Said Liam, placing one hand on Arlet’s shoulder. “But our worlds have something in common, our champions perform marvels, they fight, bleed, decay, and die, all so our rulers can act behind closed doors. You’ve performed your duty Arlet, retreat now. Your voice has spoken, now listen. Brass isn’t enough to slay Pandora, I question if I am able, but that is of no consequence. Only mages and myself may prevail in this coming battle. Retreat now. Live! Fulfill your duty to Lady Nyota, Baroness of Greenwood.” Finished Liam.
Arlet’s heart stopped. Retreat now? Champions were elevated by nobles so they could act as a sacrificial ward. Dying for their master. Such exchanges sponsored countless lives, gave purpose to thousands and hope to tens of thousands.
“Don’t make Rhendal waste mana on a portal. Leave. Now.” Ordered Liam.
“No, do not ask this of me. Order Eldred, or Rhendal, or–” Arlet shivered “Jenkins even–”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think since Quetzalcoatl kicked my teeth in. But grandpa put it best. A family grows great when the old men plant saplings whose shade will never cool their brow. In simpler terms, the old cannot just step aside for the next, we– no, I must prepare the way for Nyota’s future. Niana, Lyra, and Nora included. Now get out of here, and take that brass spear with you, Furana will need it in a few years.” Said Liam.
“Furana? Who–” Began Arlet.
Only to be interrupted by Pandora coughing the largest wad of phlegm ever to be spat. She hacked it out of her sapphire snout, covering the southern gate in an impassable wall of boogers. Two hapless conscripts were caught in the barrage, and drowned without ever realizing what was asphyxiating them.
“The newest member of Nyota’s family. Now get out of here! You’re only slowing us down.” Snapped Liam.
Knights fell to their knees, understanding the futility of flight, how could anyone outrun a dragon? Their hopeless faces displeased Pandora, she raised her blue head alongside the black wyrm directing their fury at the western gate. Black energy hammered the gate, breaking it apart, the drawbridge splintered, the gatehouse crumbled, and a twenty foot section of stone was obliterated, destroyed by darkness and washed away by water. The yellow head twisted towards the conscripts, lips curling away from obsidian teeth. .
“Go on little ones. Run while you can. As thanks for my rejuvenation I'll spare any who can outrun my lightning.” Lied Pandora.
Blackwood’s conscripts broke to a man. Fleeing through the western gates and leaving the knights and umbraquins behind. Alexander Blackwood crumpled, finally understanding how thoroughly King Aldric had trounced him in their battle of wits and maneuvering.
“Pandora’s heart, her core… It was in the tallest tower Lord Green… His Majesty never said this would happen…” Said Blackwood, his voice barely above a whisper.
His majesty… There it is, the engineer of all our suffering. Alexander Blackwood, you were just another pawn in his corrupt game of… of what? Thought Liam, pondering what possible motivations could inspire a king to destroy a Baron with a tool guaranteed to burn the wielder. King Aldric gains nothing by destroying Green.
One of the umbraquins, one with gorgeous green eyes, identical to Cedric's, turned towards Liam.
“The heart vanished from its pedestal days ago, it’s gone. Flee Now Lord Liam. Renosipe must have miscalculated.” Said the Panther.
“No, things are as they should be. Arlet! Get out of here NOW!” Shouted Liam.
Arlet didn’t budge, so Liam moved him. Stomping across the courtyard he shoved the champion with all his might, surprising them both when Arlet staggered backwards, physically moved by the man they both considered feeble.
“Arlet, you damnable fool! Pandora feeds on doubt. You men are empowering her, actively assisting her against me! Kill yourselves, or march out of here with your heads held high!” Screamed Liam, finally breaking through his champion’s thick skull.
Gods were less physical beings, and more concepts of human emotions or unshakable ideas. Where blades faltered hope could shatter scales.
“For our Ladies.” Said Arlet.
“For all our Ladies.” Answered Liam.
That last admonition was enough for the champion, in seconds he had the knights and the remaining sixteen men of the Greenwood Militia marching out of Blackwood’s east gate. No wagons remained, nor could any horses be seen, not after Rhendal’s roar or Pandora’s arrival. So they marched. Arlet in their rear, acting as a bulwark against Pandora’s insidious powers. Their order beat away her temptations, though no man would ever forget the shame they felt. Or how relieved they were to be ordered away.
All the way through Avignon the squad marched in two straight lines. Arlet conducted a retreat so orderly it would later be emulated by pilgrims, honoring the last march of champion Arlet alongside Therun Perun Taloc.
Never once did Arlet look back. For fear of his knights seeing him weep.
But Pandora couldn’t let them flee uninjured, beating her wings she summoned a hurricane, knocking the warrior off their feet.
“March or run it matters not! Sooner than you think I will knock on your door. Run little ones! Tuck your tails and return to your ladies, warn them of my return! Let your families marinate in hope, t’wil only make their flesh sweeter.” Called Pandora.
Her heads spoke in unison, giving her worlds a thrice echoed sensation, one that beat her taunt into one’s very soul.
Growls echoed through the umbraquins, conveying some unknowable meaning to Rhendal.
“We’re ready my Lightning Lord.”
“Level that bitch.” Ordered Liam.
Eight of the magical werepanthers channeled their second affinities, turning the smashed wreckage of Blackwood Castle into chalk.
Pandora’s triple headed dragon form was as heavy as it was armored, and masticated the chalkstones with obsidian claws, sending a white tidal wave that spread for a mile in every direction.
Oh Pandora, Taloc knew you would return… Did you really think you were the only one who’s been collecting power for centuries?